


Sherlock Holmes: Shadows of The Past

by GeekyRoleplayer



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exploring Sherlock's emotional baggage, Fluff, I am not planning on it but this is for fun and you know what, I may just cave down the line, Paranormal, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock has feelings, THIS IS BASED OFF A DREAM I HAD, The fanfiction gods spoke to me, This is a modern story with no connection to BBC Sherlock, Will this turn into a slowburn fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28684422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekyRoleplayer/pseuds/GeekyRoleplayer
Summary: When famous detective Sherlock Holmes is tasked with helping an old friend of the family, he is forced to consider the impossible and to confront ghosts from his past.A modern Sherlock Holmes story.
Kudos: 1





	Sherlock Holmes: Shadows of The Past

There was something nostalgic about waking up on a Sunday afternoon with absolutely nothing to do. 

John Watson thought it was, for a lack of better words, absolutely divine. There was no violin from the room next door or the stampede of foot-traffic on the stairs. Even Toby had not barked once the entire morning, leaving the retired veteran to sprawl out beneath linen sheets. The quiet was unusual for Baker Street but they hadn't gotten home until dawn. Cases often ran late like that, so he could be content with a bit of respite. 

There was no reason to worry, he tells himself, with eyes still closed. 

_Thump._

No reason at all. 

_Thump._

Everything was just as it should be.

_Thump._

The wood floor was cold against John's bare feet. It is all he can do to grasp for his blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders like a cape, before blundering into the main room of his shared flat. Toby, a monstrous bloodhound who was spoiled beyond redemption, sniffed at the foot of the front door. His master lingers beside him, long fingers caressing the doorknob just so- 

"Sherlock?" John prompts, rubbing the sleep from his eyes now. "What is that?"

"You don't recognize the sound?" His flatmate _tsks,_ uncharacteristically bright-eyed for someone who had just woken up as well. "You should be more observant, Watson." He opens the door before the man on the other side has the chance to knock. "Good morning, brother dearest." 

Mycroft Holmes stands before them in a suit that is so tight, the buttons might burst. It was a ploy to make himself look slimmer no doubt, perhaps even younger. A hooked cane was poised within his left hand- the culprit of that insufferable thumping. He squints at his sibling, "Sherlock, it is three in the afternoon." 

"Is it?" Sherlock turns his head to squint at the window, where an ungodly amount of sunlight was streaming in. "Oh." 

John chuckles. 

"And is that the same outfit you wore yesterday." 

"The past two days, actually." Sherlock glances down at his rumpled dress shirt and his pant leg that was bunched up to his knee. "I was on the hunt, you know." 

"Clearly." Mycroft invites himself inside and shoos Toby away with the end of his cane. The dog cares little for their guest and walks away to lick at a plate of biscuits Mrs. Hudson must have brought up earlier in the day. "Would you like to go make yourself presentable? I have a case for you." 

"Of course you do." The younger sibling huffs, wandering away to throw himself within an armchair. He sits in it askew, long legs tossed over one side. "Why else would you be here?" 

Mycroft opens his mouth to respond but John intercepts him. 

"No- No case talk until I've had my coffee." He turns on his heel to approach the kitchen. "Sugar, Sherlock?" 

"Three spoonfuls, please." 

Mycroft scowls.

"It is either that or a cigarette, Mycroft, so keep your complaints to yourself." 

John takes his time in the kitchen, listening with a foggy mind as the coffee brews. From the next room, he can hear the siblings speaking, but it sounds like family affairs, so he tunes them out. Instead, he finds comfort in clearing away beakers and vials. It had been some time since Sherlock had sat down to work on a project anyway and they could only live in the clutter for so long. 

Although, the detective found structure in all this chaos. 

The coffee pot beeps and he pulls two mugs from the cabinet. He had always lacked a sweet tooth, even as a boy, so he took his black. Sherlock, on the other hand, was like a child who had never grown out of wanting treats. Even if his taste in treats had matured and fowled over time. 

John puts two teaspoons of sugar in, before returning to the sitting room. 

"A cuppa for you." He says. 

"Three spoons?" 

"Of course." 

Sherlock takes a long sip, none the wiser. 

John finds a place upon the couch as Toby crosses the room to beg at his feet. 

"May I state my case, little brother?" 

Sherlock sighs dramatically, brushing a hand through his thick curls of hair. "If you must." 

Mycroft had taken the armchair adjacent from Sherlock's and he now lays his cane to rest at his feet. It was an accessory he didn't need, John had come to learn, but it was a convenient weapon that also served to demand respect. Sherlock still considered swords, if he could get a hand on one, but John would be hard-pressed to hand off his gun for another form of self-defense. He tries not to fall asleep, as Mycroft Holmes begins his tale. 

"I have an old friend who has recently found himself in a bit of trouble. He was a member of Scotland yard, retired due to an injury now, but he recently brought some property in the Westminster. It is truly a hovel of a place, Sherlock. It has gone unused for nearly a decade but since he started renovating, he has been different." 

"Different how?" 

"He claims to see things. Figures from the corner of his eye or hand-prints left upon his windows. He has been evaluated by a psychiatrist at my insistence and he seems healthy, save for his new drinking habit to cope with the stress. Yes, I once had that same look of skepticism on my face as you do now, but I have been to this house and I have experienced these strange ongoings." 

"Ghost Mycroft, really?" Sherlock was still draped over his chair in such an awkward way. He looked relaxed, but there was a harsh gleam in his eye that told John he had been listening intently and taking in every detail. "We are men of science."

"Quite right you are and yet the improbable seems more likely by the day." 

"I don't investigate the _paranormal_ , so if you've just come here to waste my time-"

"-This friend is Alexander Yuen." 

"What?" 

Something had just transpired between the two siblings and John hadn't the faintest idea as to what. His gaze flickers between the pair of them and they share the same rigid posture. He feels like the village idiot, which is not uncommon when he is in the company of the Holmes. "Who is Alexander Yuen?" 

Sherlock places his coffee mug on the floor and Toby rushes over to lick at what little droplets remain. "It doesn't matter," the man says as he rises from the armchair at last. "Tell Yuen I'll take the case and leave his address with John, I need a shower and a proper breakfast before I leave." 

"And another cigarette?"

"And another cigarette." 

Mycroft rises from his chair as well, as John can only continue watching on in exhausted confusion. "Well, at least you are honest. Shall I text you the address, Doctor Watson?" 

"Sure." 

Sherlock had moved past them and John rises to see their guest out. 

Mycroft almost seemed jovial at these turns of events but his younger brother uttered nothing more, as he blocked out the world with the closing of his bedroom door. 

John sighs and starts towards the kitchen for a second cup of coffee. 

It was just the start of a normal day for 221B.


End file.
